Sleeping Giant Poem by Francie Lynch

There's a sleeping giant
On the floor,
Snoring, blocking
All the doors.
I tip-toe 'round the
Massy bulk,
Lest he wake up hungry,
And I'm the morsel
He first sees.
There's a pillow 'neath
His massive head,
The mirror fogs,
So he's not dead.
He sleeps, yawns,
Grinds yellow teeth,
Flutters eyelids,
Causing grief.
Smoke exhales
As he breathes
Through his nose,
Which makes him sneeze
And stretch his limbs,
Then he rolls over
On his chin
To expose his naked neck.
I should grab
A shiny axe
And give that giant
One clean whack,
Put his head in a gunney sack
And bury it in the garden,
Between the rows of corn,
To fester for the worms.
I'd take the body
To the lake,
Weigh it down
And let it sink.
Then we children
Would sleep well,
The sleeping giant
Sleeps in hell.